Pure As Snow
by NkyOT
Summary: The sky was pewter-grey and snow descended in pinpricks to whisper in his tired ears. His lips were pale blue from the cold. His eyes drifted closed - did he even know he wasn't sleeping anymore? Character Death.


**A revised version.**

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_Pure As Snow_

Around him, snow fell. Small pinprick whispers of ice drifted down, half-camouflaged, from the sky of pewter-white and alighted themselves upon his eyelashes. Their touch was cold but comforting, and their trembling breaths of winter caressed his ashen skin and lulled him into rest. They settled around him, too, blanketing the ground with their frosty flecks and turning the ground to snow; slowly, lazily, he flexed his fingers through their formation, and felt the flakes begin to melt when they touched the shallow warmth of his palms.

He breathed in as deeply as his heavy ribs would allow, and felt the cold strike sharply against his throat, his lungs; he allowed the cold to embrace him and envelope his limbs to make them numb. His tired blue eyes gazed upwards into the obscure, grey canvas above him; there was no wholesome swell of fluffy cloud, no peeking shafts of sunlight past the washed-out stretch of sky, and he felt an aching tug to realise he was facing his reflection. A tired expanse of hollowness, slowly staining itself a deeper pewter-grey, was all he could see, for as far as his weary eyes would let him.

But at the same time the slow drumbeat in his chest shuddered out its melancholy, he was happy, for with a child-like wonder he watched churning flakes of snow dance their way cheerfully from the mourning gape to tickle over his cheeks. Their tumbling patterns bucked and twirled in fresh wisps of wind that scurried over the ground, and as that same wind ruffled his splayed, gold-hued hair, he smiled.

And it was for the first time in a long while that he smiled sincerely, without having to hide how terrible he really felt. Compelled to watch those hypnotic flakes fall, he lay amid the snow; watching from beyond the window's coop just wasn't enough. He needed to _feel _them. Everything he once possessed — once longed for, once aspired for — didn't seem achievable anymore, or lacked its old appeal; slowly, his world had zeroed down to a tunnel-vision of toiling effort, every movement a chore, every step forward a struggle not to stop. But the pure, innocent stillness of the snow upon the ground, its lack of pace the one thing he yearned for, and the darting, skipping, laughing, spinning joy of the snowflakes mesmerised him. To be out here, lying amongst the white snowfall, was all he wanted now.

A few curious flakes settled gently upon his cheeks, and streaked across his whiskered birthmarks like tears; like they were quietly liberating some of his pent-up despair from the cavity of his heart. Too captivated amid his haven of numbness and awe to notice, the night wore on around him and grew colder, but the sky did not change its patterns. Flakes gathered upon his cheeks once more, but they did not melt. They sewed themselves together in tiny, tiny pairs and settled quietly upon his skin, as if waiting.

As he smiled, he laughed; his breath swirled in the cocooning chill, and in the night's smothering silence the laughter made no sound. Snowflakes continued to fall. It was peaceful, and he didn't mind the creeping cold; sifting his numb fingers in the snow, he couldn't move much. It didn't matter; he loved to watch that snow.

A threadbare robe was wrapped around his thinning figure, but it didn't block out the cold. It didn't matter, though. Contentedness was buzzing lazily through his veins as the tingling chill anaesthetised his body and soothed his mind. He let out a soft, chuckling breath once more as he let the peaceful feeling leek behind his eyes; he couldn't feel the frost nipping at his toes. Only the snow drifted in his mind now.

His eyelids started to grow heavy, but he paid their warning no heed; he didn't care that he would fall asleep out here, he _wanted _to, under the falling flakes that marked and merged with the sky like dying stars. And sure enough, little by little he drifted off to sleep, and the wintery coldness turned to a buzzing warmth spreading throughout his body.

Detachedly, half asleep, he wondered if anyone would come and wake him in the morning, when he missed training again. His sensei might; a while ago the Jounin had dragged a concerned look over his loose-fitting clothes and the bags under his eyes — but his sensei shouldn't still be so worried, he could sleep now. His eyes finally drifted closed, and as his breath left his body in a contented sigh, a soft smile graced his pale face.

The sun rose the next morning, and cast a weak ray over the blanketed ground, setting the snow flakes sparkling. The snow, which had continued to fall gently through the night, had wiped away the previous trace of lone footsteps, stumbling to the middle of the field. The only sign that life had disturbed the snowfall early in the night was a small figure, lying still amid the mantle of white. His azure eyes were closed, and his lips were frozen in a blue-tinged, relieved smile; the first in weeks.

That was how Kakashi found him, his matted, unkempt hair a sharp, golden contrast to the pale world around him. Snowflakes kissed the fair-blonde strands, and clung softly to his lashes in melted droplets; they coated his white gown with a layer of frost, preserving his last breath.

A harsh sadness, a howl of loss, tugged at the Jounin's chest, and as he bent down to brush the frosty locks from his student's closed eyes, he couldn't help but pause and blink and wonder, with just a small twinge of misery, what had compelled him to do such a thing as dream out in the snow.

Quietly, soft footsteps were hesitantly make their way towards him, and for the briefest moment Kakashi took his eyes from the face of his stricken student to look over his shoulder. Sasuke and Sakura had paused a little way behind him; they had followed him, even though he had asked them to wait instead for his return. Kakashi sighed and averted his gaze, trying to valiantly hide his pained expression, but he knew it was hopeless, for the looks on the adolescents' faces told him they had already seen.

Tears were welling in Sakura's eyes, and suddenly she bolted forwards, her raven-haired teammate only a step behind her. Reaching her sensei's stooped form, Sakura collapsed to her knees beside him, a small flurry of snow bursting upwards on her landing. Ignoring the cold flecks stinging at her skin, Sakura reached forward, as if to clutch her lifeless teammate by the shoulders and shake and shake him, until he opened his eyes and he leapt to his feet with a jesting grin.

Kakashi grabbed her by her arms, pulled her up, held her back, and she _knew _then — _oh_, she knew. The young kunoichi bust into tears, and wailing sobs wracked her body as her sensei held her up. Her knees were giving way beneath her in her despair. Sasuke stood close behind her, but he didn't seem to hear her cries; he didn't seem to hear anything. His face was shockingly pale, and his eyes were wide in disbelief, and he just stared at the body of his best friend. His hands were trembling at his sides.

He drew in a sharp breath, the biting air hurting his tightly clenched chest. He wanted to yell, to scream, at the limp bundle on the ground, to kick and scratch and pound and bite at it, beating the idiot to his feet. But as much as he wanted to, as much as Sasuke desperately _needed_ to, something held him back: an inkling, a knowing, held him in his place. Just a Sakura knew, so did he: he knew his rival — his friend — his best friend — wouldn't move. Shock battered his legs to pulp, and he felt as if the screws fastening his kneecaps had rattled loose. And that idiot was still smiling.

And it was true. For the first time in a long while, he had a smile on his face. He looked untroubled, and at peace — and maybe, somewhere, he was still dreaming, just like he had always been.

Did he even know he wasn't sleeping anymore?

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**Disclaimer: I Don't Own Naruto**


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